


what will survive of us is love

by simaetha



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simaetha/pseuds/simaetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lúthien tries to hope for the best. Reality keeps trying to intervene.</p>
<p>
  <em>"No," you repeat. "I'm not arguing with you about this anymore. There is nothing," you say with perfect certainty, "<span class="u">nothing</span> that will make me leave you, Beren."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	what will survive of us is love

"Of course my parents will like you once they meet you," you say. "Everything will be fine, Beren. Don't worry."

You smile at him, and he smiles back - a little shy, with that faint hint of uncertainty that his happiness almost always has, as if he's always expecting to be told that no, there's been some mistake, he isn't really allowed goodness after all. But his eyes are warm, when he looks at you, and it makes your heart skip within your chest; as if it were trying to match the mortal pace with which Beren's own heart speeds.

You love him so _much_.

It's a warm, golden late summer afternoon; you and Beren are currently curled up together in a clearing by a clear stream that scrambles over sand and pebbles, making the most of the cool air that breathes from the water. Dog-roses climb over a stand of young trees, and Beren let you plait some of the flowers into his hair: you think the pink-and-white blossoms set off his dark braids rather nicely, even if Beren himself seems to find it all a little silly.

You suppose being the last defender of Dorthonion, praised in song and admired in deed, doesn't leave much time to worry about whether you look pretty or not. Beren still blushes every time you tell him how nice he looks. It makes you want to keep doing it as many times as you can reasonably manage.

"It's just - well," says Beren, hesitantly. "I mean, your father is the King, so I can see how he might not be - _completely_ happy about us wanting to marry? I mean, I - you're a _princess_ , Tinúviel, and I guess I'm the ruler of Dorthonion, technically, but it's not as if it's much of a kingdom to offer you, these days, not compared to - not compared to how wonderful Doriath is. And - "

"Oh, _Beren_ ," you say. You can _hear_ where this is going; it's not as if you haven't talked all this through with Beren yourself before now. "You're a _hero_. My father should be _proud_ to have you in our family - as if any of us have done as much as you, spending years fighting the Enemy and his servants, while someone like _me_ just spends her life hiding behind the Girdle. I _know_ he'll understand that when he meets you. I _promise_."

You stretch out your hand and take his, feeling the warm skin and hard callouses under your fingers and palm: so fragile; so easily hurt. It makes you want to - protect him, take care of him, even though you know very well how strong he is.

Beren really is a _hero_. He was - _damaged_ , when you first met him, something inside him was hurt by all those years of fighting and running and grieving for his family and his people, but even that was - was only because of how _brave_ he was, to keep going when anyone else would have given up. You'd heard about what was happening, but it wasn't until you actually met Beren and heard the way he told it (curled up around him with his head in your lap and your hair hanging down around him, keeping him _safe_ while he talked about memories no-one should have to bear, no matter how strong they are) that it felt _real_ to you, something that was happening to people - to a person - you cared about, not just a series of intelligence reports.

Beren fought the Enemy for so long and so well that he had to send his chief lieutenant in to make war against him - someone who makes your _mother_ go tight-lipped and quiet, nevermind an ordinary Man - and that Beren had as much of a price on his head as the High King of the Noldor's, by the time he left. Anyone who tries to lessen Beren's achievements is going to have to go through you first, as far as you're concerned.

"I - well," says Beren. Another shy smile. "I guess I just - feel a little intimidated by it all, anyway. I _know_ , Tinúviel, you keep telling me it's not sensible, but - that doesn't change how I _feel_. And there's, uh - your father _really_ didn't sound all that happy, from what you told me he said, and I know we already talked about this but I can kind of see how the part where you're one of the Eldar and I'm, I'm _not_ , that might be a legitimate worry - "

"Beren, we _did_ already talk about this," you say firmly. "I suppose if my father wanted to be _massively hypocritical_ he could object to our being from different peoples - "

"Yeah, but, um, can we _not_ go over that part right now, I honestly just kind of try not to think about the part where your mother is a literal goddess because I guess having met you it shouldn't suprise me but I still really don't know how to deal with it - "

He's so _sweet_.

"It's still the same thing, though," you say. "And - Beren, I love you. Why would any of the rest even _matter_ , next to that? None of it - none of these things about status and people and who thinks what - is really _important_ , when you get down to it. Unless you've got tired of me, I suppose," you say, smiling to show that you're only teasing, with a flip of your hair over your shoulder, "and this is your way of letting me down gently, since you've found some golden-haired human girl who's less trouble and whose family don't keep losing their tempers and saying ridiculous things - "

"Don't even joke about that," says Beren, his hand tightening its grasp around yours, "you know there could never be anyone else for me, Nightingale - "

"As if there could ever be anyone else for me, either!" you say. "Oh, Beren - "

You lean in to kiss him, capturing his mouth with yours, before pulling reluctantly away after a few all-too-brief seconds and springing to your feet, drawing him after you.

"Now, come on," you say. "Let's go present you in Menegroth and get it over with. It had to happen sooner or later, anyway."

"Yeah, at least then I can start worrying about whatever _actually_ happens, instead of just what _might_ happen," Beren says ruefully, pulling flowers out of his hair, and you laugh, already thinking of how much easier things will be once this is all dealt with; how much you're sure your father will like him, if he just gives Beren a chance.

***

"No, I'm _not_ just going to leave you!" you say. "How could you possibly think that - that after all this I'd just go home and never see you again - "

"You should never have had to do _any_ of it," Beren says, his voice taut with distress, "Tinúviel, _Tinúviel_ , you should never have had to go through any of that for _me_ \- it would have all been better in the first place if you, if you'd just stayed _safe_ \- "

" _Better_?" you snap. "I - you - _oh_ \- " You make a little growling noise, low in your throat, and dance away from Beren for a few steps, snapping out a series of fouetté turns to calm yourself down enough to talk.

"Beren, _nothing would be better if you were dead_ ," you say. "That would _not_ be _better_ \- that would be the _worst thing that could possibly happen to me_ , you are _not_ allowed to suggest that - that - "

You're - very worried about Beren, lately. There's something that's been _wrong_ since you found him in the wreck of Tol Sirion - Tol-in-Gaurhoth, as it had become - something you can't seem to fix, a wound to his spirit that still hurts him, no matter that you sing him to sleep every night with healing in your voice.

Your mother would say that what Beren needs, more than anything, is time and peace. You keep reminding yourself of that, that each day away from that place has to be helping him at least a little, even if you're too close to see it as it happens.

"I'm not - I didn't mean _that_ ," Beren says unhappily. "Only - if I hadn't gone and mixed you and King Finrod up in this - _he_ wouldn't be dead, and _you_ wouldn't have had to - to fight _Sauron_ \- and _it shouldn't have happened_ , Tinúviel, you _shouldn't_ have had to do that for _me_ \- "

"Well, I already did!" you say. "So let's not _waste_ it, Beren, I _did_ do it for you, and I'd do it again, I love you, I'm _not going to leave you_ , no matter what - "

You don't ever, ever _want_ to have to do something like that again, but you're not lying; you _would_ do it, if it needed to be done. Huan did the harder part of it, really - Huan was _amazing_ , he fought all those other wolves before the Abhorred One himself came out, you were so scared but you had to keep going anyway because if Huan had done all that for you and Beren then you _couldn't_ be the one to let him down -

Facing the Abhorred One wasn't the worst part, anyway. That was - finding Beren and Finrod, afterwards, and having to bury your cousin Finrod's body, with blood on his teeth and caked under his fingernails from when he and the wolf had slain each other. But you don't want to think about that, and bringing it up would only make Beren feel worse.

Sometimes you - you feel like it's wrong of you, to feel so sad and afraid when you think about Tol Sirion, because it's really _Beren_ who had to live through such awful things. You were only there right at the end; and when you think sensibly about it, nothing bad really happened to _you_ at all.

"I love you, Tinúviel," Beren says. "So - so you shouldn't make me worry about you, it makes _me_ feel worse to think about you being in danger - "

Oh, now _that's_ a new one. You narrow your eyes and glare at him. "So it's alright for _me_ to feel bad instead of you, is that it - "

"It's _not_ , but Tinúviel, what else can we do?" Beren asks, his voice plaintive. "I can't - I don't have anywhere else _safe_ left to go, I wish there was somewhere we could both just - live, and not have to worry about any of this, but there isn't, not for me, not - not after everything. But _you_ do - I know your parents did the wrong thing, keeping you captive, but King Elu would do _anything_ to protect you, wouldn't he? And then at least one of us could - "

"No," you say.

There's - something in the background, distant sounds coming closer, but you're not paying attention. This is _important_.

"Tinúviel - "

" _No_ ," you repeat. "I'm not arguing with you about this anymore. There is nothing," you say with perfect certainty, " _nothing_ that will make me leave you, Beren Barahirion.

"So either we stay like this - and we can, Beren, we've been just fine so far, we have each other and we can take care of each other and I don't see how we need anything else - or we go walk into Angband, pry one of those gods-cursed Silmarils out of the Iron Crown and bring it back to my father, _somehow_ , so we can _both_ be safe, nevermind how _ridiculous_ of Adar it was to ask for one in the first place, because that's the _only_ way I'm going back to Doriath again - "

The sound is - closer, getting louder, and you realise it's hoofbeats. Beren's head jerks up and he starts to turn towards something at your back, a look of _focus_ suddenly snapping onto his face, but -

Movement, strong hands suddenly at your shoulders, flinging you across the saddle-bow with an impact to your stomach that makes you almost panic as you gasp for breath, winded -

_Beren_ , you think, _no please no let him be alright_ -

The next few moments are confusing. You're falling from the horse, and you try to roll and take the fall properly, but there's still a hard smack of pain across your shoulder and hip, and then you knock your head hard enough to make your eyes sting and blur -

" _Huan_ ," someone is shouting, loud and male and furious, "what are you _doing_ , hound, let me get _past_ , damn you - " and over that Huan's deep angry growl, he's almost _roaring_ , and you're suddenly _terrified_ because you've only heard Huan like that once before -

You manage to sit up and take in the scene.

Across from you, Celegorm Fëanorion is trying to get past Huan's bared teeth and raised hackles, spear in his hand, making little darting jabs that aren't _quite_ an attack, just as Huan's snaps aren't _quite_ aimed at him, his pale hair swinging out behind him as he leans forward in the saddle, flushed with anger, and you follow his gaze towards -

That's _Curufin Fëanorion_ , you realise, on the ground with Beren's hands locked around his throat, clawing at them as he tries to break Beren's grip, and Beren just looking down at him with a look of pure emotionless concentration, as if choking him to death were - were just a _job_ , no different from gathering firewood for your camp in the evening.

You put the facts together in your head.

And for a moment, before you call out to Beren to _stop_ , you are the angriest you have ever been in your entire life, so angry you feel weightless with it, and you really, genuinely think about just _letting Beren kill him_ , he _deserves it_ , you _never did anything to him_ and now - and now -

_What am I going to do now_ , you think, your mental voice a wail of rage and despair, because now you will never, ever convince Beren you're _safe_ out here, outside Doriath, and you really are running out of other options, because you won't leave Beren, and you can't take him home with you, and the only other choice left to you isn't any sort of _choice_ at all.

***

"Oh, _Lúthien_ ," your father says the moment you're out of public view, reaching out towards you, and you can't help wanting to just fall into his arms; to be his little Lúthien again, when you were young and had never really been hurt or in danger, when you still thought there was nothing in the world that your parents couldn't fix and make right between them.

You take a step back.

"Don't you say that to me, _Father_ ," you say, your voice cold. "Don't you _dare_ pretend to be _sympathetic_ \- not _now_ \- not when - "

"Lúthien," your father says again, helplessly. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Please, you can't believe that I ever - that I ever wanted things to end like _this_ \- "

"Didn't you?" you ask. "Isn't this what you _wanted_? You wanted Beren _dead_ , Father, you _always_ wanted that, I tried and tried to make excuses for you but you couldn't _stand_ that I loved him, you would have killed him in front of the whole court the first time you met him if I hadn't made you _promise_."

"I just didn't want to see you hurt, darling," King Elu Thingol says, his shoulders sagging. "I _did_ promise, you remember that, I thought it was only - it was something that would pass, I never realised how deeply your feelings for the boy went - "

" _Beren_ ," you say, "his name is _Beren_ , can you not manage that - "

You feel a cool hand on your shoulder, and turn to meet your mother's gentle regard. Melian looks much as ever, tall and lovely, her eyes deep wells of night; but you can see the pain written on her face, like clouds passing across the moon.

"Lúthien," she says, "please don't be so hard on your father. He only ever wanted to keep you safe, that's all, you must understand that."

You laugh. The sound makes both your parents flinch.

"Oh, well, _that_ worked _really_ well, didn't it?" you say. "I should have told Morgoth that - that I was there because Father wanted to keep me _safe_ , so _that's_ how I ended up in the Iron Hell trying to Sing against the Enemy, it _all makes sense_ now - "

"Sweetheart, you know it wasn't like that - "

"No, I _don't_ , actually," you say. You can't seem to stop talking, words pouring out as if something inside you had broken and rage and pain are suddenly bleeding out, a wound you can't manage to staunch. "And don't you - don't you blame this on _Father_ , at least he actually takes some _responsibility_ for what he's done, but _you_ , Mother, _you_ just stood by this whole time and did _nothing_ about _anything_ , you let them trap me up on Hirilorn and you never did _anything_ to help, as far as I'm concerned you're _just as bad_ \- "

" _Lúthien_ \- "

"No!" you say. "You don't _get_ to apologise, it's _too late_ , it doesn't _help_. You wanted Beren to bring you a Silmaril in exchange for me? Well, _congratulations_ , Father, you _have_ one now, I hope you like it best - I hope you think it's _worth the trade_ , because that's all you're going to have from now on, I'll never forgive you for this, not either of you, not for as long as I live - "

Your mother wraps her arms around you, and you press your face into her neck, sobbing. After a few moments you feel your father's embrace encircle both of you, and you sink into it, letting your parents' support take your weight, as grief seems to press you down into the floor, crushing your chest until you can hardly breathe for crying.

_Beren_ , you think hopelessly, _I want Beren_ , but you can't have him, not this side of the Western Sea, maybe not - maybe not ever again, no-one really knows what happens to mortals when they die -

And even in the midst of your grief, the thought ignites a hot surge of defiance inside you, because you - you went through _so much_ for each other, this _can't_ be all you get, you won't _let_ it -

You already fought one Power for Beren, defied the odds, did things you never thought anyone could. You'd do it all twice over to have him back, and you'll face down all of the Valar if you have to, if you have to _change the world_ to make it happen then you will _change the world_.

You don't care about the Doom of Men. You don't care about anything much else, by now. You walked into Hell for Beren, you don't regret it, and you _will_ see Beren again, no matter _what_ it takes.


End file.
